Who Is Shadow Cat?
by Catlionie
Summary: Okay, this is MY version of Xmen, ok? And I know henry Mcoy's name isn't right... I just haven't changed it yet!
1. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE.  
  
An overweight teenager sits at the dining table, quietly eating her dinner alone whilst the mother eats hers in front of the television. Depressed, all she can do is chew and swallow the food mechanically. Chewing while not tasting. To her everything is sawdust and cardboard. No betraying emotions flicker across her face.  
  
Then, the father comes downstairs. His hair is still wet from the shower and he wears his old, ratty robe. He heads straight to the stove where the food lay, making the daughter's throat contract as she awaits the outburst that she knew too well that would follow.  
  
He grabs a plate from the cupboard then turns to the stovetop. "You fat little bitch." The man swore, angrily shoveling food onto his plate. "You are such a fucking pig." He mutters underneath his breath, loud enough for the girl, but not for the mother to hear.  
  
"You stupid little worthless shit. How dare you take all those potatoes? Aren't you fat enough?" he growls, as the girl enters the kitchen, finished with the food she didn't eat. Regretting she even had the need to eat, she wishes the floor to open and swallow her whole.  
  
She chokes back the tears, and schools her face into an expressionless mask. It is easier to let him think what he wants to think; would he ever listen to the truth? Sure, she could mention that there wasn't that much potatoes to begin with, and what with both her and her mother taking some, should there be such an abundance left? And why are potatoes so fricking important?  
  
Holding back the words that she longs to say, she stands at the sink, washing the accumulated dinner dishes. She has to bite her lip from telling him off, but she did not want him to hit her today. Not today, couldn't she have just one day of peace? On her 16th birthday, didn't she deserve to just be left alone?  
  
He slides up next to her his plate steaming with food, and he mutters, "I work all day, you play, what gives you the right to take so much food? Want, want, want. You take whatever you want." She edges away slightly; a fine tremor quivers her chin.  
  
"We don't have the money to feed a fat cow like you." The girl flinches as the stepfather raises a fist, as if to strike her. She trembles, as she fears for her life, the glint in her stepfather's eye was murderous. She realizes that he was only taking his anger out on her, finding no one else fitting of the punishment he felt he was due to give. "Take whatever Leonie's desire is, that's what you think. The rules don't apply to Queen Leonie. Do they? You selfish, insolent, disobedient, piggish little shit." He draws in oxygen in a way a smoker draws in the cancerous cloud of smoke.  
  
"You'll get yours, daughter Catlionie. You'll pay." He states with a sneer full of contempt. Shaking with rage, he stalks away.  
  
Leonie stands in front of the counter beside the stove. Trembling, she tries not to make a sound. As his footsteps disappear, she crumples onto the counter, head falling into protective hands. Her long honey-brown hair curtains her face as she slides to the floor to rest on her bottom. Her fingertips muffle her sobs, and she draws her knees up to her chest.  
  
A sharp sting strikes her amber eyes, and two teardrops threaten to fall onto pale, rounded cheeks. Leonie's vision blurs, and she wipes at her eyes impatiently. _I_ hate _being so weak, so absolutely powerless to such a man,_ Leonie thought, _I will make him see, I will punish him He is nothing more than a corpse, I will see to that._ Leonie swears to herself with a viciousness that startles her into gasping.  
  
About a minute after her stepfather stalked away, Leonie hears stirrings of conversation in the next room. Hearing her name, she quietly slips over the doorway, and waits for what the man shall say.  
  
"She ate all the potatoes." Said the man to his wife.  
  
Leonie's mood lifts. Suddenly, she wanted to burst out laughing at the insane way her stepfather found fried mashed potatoes so important. It's just... Potatoes. But, what lay beneath the surface? Why is he so angry with her? She stills her breathing to hear what they are saying, realizing the conversation continues.  
  
"Beau," Leonie's mother starts, "there weren't all that much to begin with. They shrank when they stuck to the pan. We each took equal amounts." Leonie was shocked; her mother had never stood up for her before. Realizing this, Beau leveled a glare at his wife's graying head, so furious; Leonie suspected her mother's hair might burst into flames.  
  
Beau's mouth pinched in anger as he tried to control his emotions. Putting on a false air of calm, he began to eat his oh-so-precious potatoes. "Besides," Leonie's mother continues, unaware of what her husband is feeling. "Catlionie did not even want the potatoes. She thought you should have them all. It was I who encouraged her to take them."  
  
_She shouldn't have said that._ Leonie thought to herself.  
  
"Laurie!" Beau bellows and flings himself in an upright position. Chicken, peas, and the coveted potatoes fly through the air, landing unceremoniously on the carpeted floor.  
  
_Mother doesn't know when to stop._ Leonie continues her train of thought, cat-like eyes wide with fear. She knows she should leave, before she is seen, but she is drawn to the scene like the moth to the flame. She is riveted to the spot.  
  
Beau turns from his fallen food, disgusted and angry. Looking anywhere but at his pathetic wife's attempts to clean the food from the floor, his eyes lift, and settle on the girl hiding in the shadows on the landing above the stairs.  
  
He starts to step towards her, and Catlionie's eyes widen, her body shaking with fear. Realizing his intent, Leonie scrambles up the stairs and dashes into the kitchen.  



	2. Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO  
  
I am pacing nervously in the kitchen, my body shaking with nerves, awaiting my stepfather. Why? WHY! Why didn't I leave when I had the chance? My heart picks up and beats a rapid tattoo against my chest. My knees quake and for some reason I feel like I have to visit the bathroom.  
  
His footsteps pound up the stairs, throwing me into a state of panic. Not knowing where to run, I halt my nervous pacing and simply look at my stepfather. Beau's face is red with rage. My heart almost stops, and then beats against my chest sickeningly hard, I fear it may burst through my ribs. The beat is like thunder in my ears, and I wonder if he can hear it.  
  
He advances in what seems to be slow motion, and I shake my head and mumble, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I end with a sob and I raise my hands pitifully, as if to fend him off.  
  
"'Sorry'? Sorry?! That cuts no ice with me." Beau responds with eyes that are as hard and bright as burnished steel, red-hot contempt etched into every line of his aging features as he studies my pale shaken face. "How dare you look at me and insult my intelligence with that pathetic excuse of a word, 'sorry'?" he takes a threatening step towards me, I feel his hot breath fan my cheek and inwardly cringe "You have no idea what I have been through." He continues, "Tonight, is the last straw. I want you to leave." From behind his eyes I see power, quaking to be released.  
  
I step back, now pinned against the counter. My throat convulses and I swallow loudly.  
  
"I've put up enough from you." Beau grabs a handful of my fine hair and tugs my head up. Tears sprout in my eyes and spill over onto my cheeks without a thought from me. "I don't care where you go, just leave."  
  
I sob, "I never did anything to you!" my voice breaks with emotion and my cheeks flame in humiliation.  
  
I should have kept my mouth shut. Suddenly, my hair is dragging me up the stairs. Strands rip out of my scalp and I cry out, struggling to be released. But my struggles are in vain. He is much stronger than I realized and he clamps my to his side then hits me in the face with his fist. My head flares in pain and I go limp, my vision fogs and I am close to passing out.  
  
Reaching the upstairs he shoves me to the wall and the back of my head strikes it, plaster cracking. I slump to the ground, finding that my legs can no longer support me. My stepfather's legs stride angrily away down the stairs.  
  
I hear a scream. My mother. A loud crash silences her scream. I press my fingernails into the flesh of my palms, the biting crescents nearly drawing blood. Beau's footsteps start to stomp up both flights of stairs and I fear I may lose control of my bladder at any moment. He has never been this bad before, in all his anger, he has never struck my mother before. But I am too weak to do anything about it.  
  
A warm, wet, sticky substance leaks from a spot on my forehead. I reach a trembling hand to my head. Pushing silky hair to the side I investigate. There is a gash just inside of my hairline and I wince as my fingers accidentally brush the wound.  
  
Angry fingers bite into my shoulder. It startles me because I hadn't realized he was so close. He jerks me upright and throws me into the wall on the other side of the hall. Hard. Pain as hot as fire blazes up my side as I strike the mirror on the wall and fall onto the floor.  
  
Groaning, my arms hug my injured side. My long honey coloured, gossamer fine hair swirls around me like a cloud of dust, keeping my face in shadow. I hadn't realized he was so _strong_. What did he do? Lift trucks?  
  
The large mirror above me shatters upon impact and sparkles as the shards cascade around me. Beau, who had followed me as I had sailed through the air, kicks me in the chest, and I wheeze for air. My lungs close up, and my head feels like it is about to burst from pressure. My heart thumps erratically.  
  
"Get up!" he screams in my ear, and, not waiting for a response, drags me up roughly and smashes me into the wall again. He is breathing hard, the whites of his eyes are almost completely red, and he paces in front of my still body. The wall is the only thing that is keeping me up at the moment.  
  
My hand does not tremble when I shove the hair off my face and glower him in the eyes. My fear is not gone, but a strange calm ripple passes over my body. My amber eyes are rock hard when I lift my chin.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" he strikes me high on my chest with his hard fist. I can't help but flinch as I hear and feel the sickening crunch of my collarbone. I am white hot with pain as I fall over and gasp for breath. Blood bubbles up in my throat and my spit is red as I heave with exertion; trying to breathe.  
  
Crowing with success, the sick man starts to kick me in the abdomen.  
  
Not that I can feel anything anymore. As a matter of fact, my body is nice and peaceful. My mind drifts away from the man beating on a girl in the hall. It's all so fuzzy. My vision blurs, and starts to fade.  
  
I black out, and my mind soars with freedom. I don't know how long I passed out for, seconds, most likely. When I come to again he is still hitting me. He strikes me in the face repeatedly. I struggle to focus at the crazed man in front of me but I throw my hands up to my face instead, feeling the tenderness and the heat there, knowing that my fair skin was already purple and swollen.  
  
My face goes numb as he continues to hit me after roughly shoving my hands away, but I still refuse to respond. I can't; I don't think I can even move. Finally, Beau stops to give himself a rest.  
  
I sink to the ground, I am breathing hard as I close my eyes and wait for the next hit. When I feel him steady his body and prepare to strike again, that calm wave passes over me again, making my body relax. I can hear him move, and let fly is fist.  
  
When the strike does not come I open my eyes to a squint. Beau stands there with a shocked look on his face.  
  
"How did you do that?!" he rages, spit flying from his mouth, and sweat trickles down his face.  
  
With enormous effort, I blink and connect momentarily to angry, puzzled eyes that I would never have dared to meet had I been in full control of myself, "What?" I double over with the pain piercing in my abdomen and chest.  
  
Beau vents an angry growl and grips the lapels of my sweater, lifting me up slightly, "How did you do that?!" he rakes down at me with aggravated urgency.  
  
It is such an effort for me to concentrate, to speak, "What are you talking about?" my tongue is thick inside my mouth, "What... did I do?" I wheeze into stunned silence.  
  
His rage comes back, "You're a fucking _mutant_!" he screams and kicks me, sending me flying down the stairs. Loud, painful thumps are heard as I crash down the stairs. I feel, rather than hear the loud crack of my arm as it breaks.  
  
_Mutant?_ My hazy brain swims in pain and I black out once more. Sweet, sweet oblivion.  



	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE  
  
I wake to cold water being dumped on me, and I gasp as the pain flares up again. Groaning, I move my sore, stiff neck and open my swollen eyes with a grimace of utter discomfort, my whole body is hurting.  
  
Spinning back to reality, my eyes settle on my stepfather and I inch backwards in panic. Hot tears stream down my swollen, bruised and bloody cheeks. I accidentally rest my weight on my bad arm and it buckles, the pain reminding me it is broken. I glance down at it quickly, my gaze skimming my arm. My bone protrudes from my forearm, and a wave of dizzying pain wails against me. My throat squeaks as I sway unsteadily.  
  
Noticing I am awake, Beau crouches down in front of me and presses cool fingertips to my burning face. Fresh tears slide down my cheeks and hit the kitchen floor in fat splashes. Kitchen floor? How'd I get here?  
  
He slides his hands down my face, cupping my cheeks tenderly, then settles his large, meaty hands on my shoulders. A warm smile touches his lips, then his hands bite into my shoulders, crushing against my broken collarbone. I scream at him, and flail my legs. My knee crunches into the junction between his legs, and he flails backward and slumps to the ground holding his member and moaning.  
  
I jump up, trying to ignore the pain that assails against my body. But, I slump against the wall, panting for breath. I lift leaden feet up the stairs, trembling, they buckle and I fall to my knees. I drag myself up the last three steps and hobble a few steps to the closed door of my room.  
  
A pitiful whine is heard behind the door, and growling. A bark escapes, then a snarl at it to quiet itself. I turn the knob and fling myself in the room, flicking the lights on and pulling the door closed behind me. I crash to the ground, panting with exertion, perspiration filming my body.  
  
Three wet noses bump against my face, and I open my eyes to see a large tongue swing at my face. Coating my face with saliva, Luc howls and jumps away to sit in a line with two other dogs. One tail and two stumps thump against the ground in unison, their eyes are mournful, begging to be patted. Ignoring them, I lift fumbling fingers to the doorknob to lock it, then slide the deadbolt into place.  
  
Leaning against the door for support, I smile at the dogs sitting in front of me. One protective wolf, one fiercely affectionate Doberman and one aggressive Rotweiler. My smile encourages them and they race over, licking me. Careful to not knock into me, they whine plaintively and run about the room as I crawl further into it.  
  
Luc the wolf nudges me with his nose, and licks my cheek. I run a hand through his thick, rich fur, and hug him with my good arm. He knocks me down and I gasp for air. Games are over. I push them all away with my good arm, and say to them, "I have to go now. I have to leave."  
  
Knowing they don't understand, I shake my head sadly. Luc howls softly and Hellsar, the Rotweiler whines, and steps on Zora's paw, and she snaps at him with deadly fangs.  
  
I hear a faint groan from downstairs, Beau, my stepfather has recovered. I hear him stagger up the steps. He tries the doorknob. Finding it locked, he kicks at the door, hearing a crack I wince, "Open this fucking door!" he screams at me.  
  
"Stupid crazy bastard." I mumble under my breath. Surely, if I was a mutant, wouldn't I know? Another angry bang sounds on the door and I look to the curious dogs, and gesture to them, a command which they have been taught to obey and carry out. "Position." My voice nearly cracks with tension. Luc jumps onto my bed and squiggles under the unmade covers. Zora crouches behind me, and Hellsar runs out onto the balcony, hidden by the flapping drapes.  
  
I stand on wobbly legs, forcing the pain from my mind. I breathe in and out slowly. As I reach for the door handle that odd calming sensation ripples over me again. My fingers go to touch the door handle, but they pass right through! My calm shattered, I go to touch the handle again with trembling fingers. Finding it solid, I undo the lock, then fumble with the dead bolt. No time to dwell on what happened.  
  
I flip off the light and step back several paces, until my skirt brushes Zora's head. My whole body is trembling in pain, as well as anxiety. Three years of solid dedication has led me to this night, but, I am still the weak, pathetic me. The door of my room crashes open, and leaves a large dent in the wall. Beau's silhouette is illuminated from the light in the hall. My throat works, I swallow a painful lump. My amber eyes are wide; my waist length honey brown hair is a cloud of disarray around me.  
  
The pain is so intense I feel I may blackout at any moment, but Beau stood there with clenched fists, breathing heavily, "You lock a door against me again and I'll break it down every time!" Outraged black flint eyes assail mine with pure aggressive force. "Do you understand?"  
  
This is the time. Time for me to fight back. I've always been quiet and mousy. Mouse Lion, was what they called me. I'm tired of it.  
  
I raise my trembling chin and stare into his eyes, or where I assume they would be. My challenging, yet fearful golden eyes are steady as I take a deep breath, "No." I say very carefully, and very slowly. I brace myself for the onslaught of his anger. I cradle my badly broken arm against my body, and continue to study him.  
  
Taking a menacing step forward, he raises his hand to strike me, but I shout. "Now!" and snap my fingers.  
  
Zora springs out from behind me, Luc leaps off the bed, and Hellsar pads calmly into the room. Luc stands to my right touching his side to my legs. Hellsar is to my left, and he pulls his lips back from his gums to expose his deadly white teeth. He growls, a quiet warning. Zora crouches in front of me, her ears laid flat on the back of her head as she snarls.  
  
Beau takes a faltering step backwards and crashes into the doorframe. All he can see is three sets of glowing eyes, and three sets of deadly fangs. Fumbling, his fingers search for the light switch, and flick it up. The sudden flash of light strikes my eyes, and I squint, my head flaring with the pain of a very intense migraine.  
  
The dogs raise themselves from the floor and advance on my stepfather, "W-where'd you get these here dogs?" his tongue moistens suddenly dry lips, and his hands shake.  
  
His greatest fear was canines. And now, suddenly encountering three of the most viscous of the dogs on earth, was almost enough to give him a heart attack. I step forward, now confident with my partners at my side.  
  
My lips curl up in a sardonic grin to hide my queasy, churning stomach, "I found them on the streets." I'm proud that my voice came out steady. The streets I refer to are the streets of the big apple, New York City.  
  
The dogs advance on him and he scrambles down the stairs. I slam my door shut, then flip the locks with tired fingers. Adrenaline is shooting through my body, and I had best make use of it. I quickly grab my large suitcase, gnashing me teeth together at my aching muscles and the scrape of my collar bone, and start piling in the few possessions I own. A photograph of my mother and real father, with my father holding me as a newborn, cradled in his arms. It's too bad that he died in that fire... I also cram in my clothes and stashes of food. Lastly, I lift the mattress off my bed and pull out a smooth, metallic object.  
  
I change into jeans and a thick, loose sweater slowly, so slowly that I feel like a turtle. I cannot remove my tee shirt with my bad arm, nor with the snapped collarbone, so I cut the shirt off with a knife. I grimace as I look down. A grimace that has nothing to do with pain; it was how my body looked, plump on the bottom, and very flat on top.  
  
I slide the cold gun into the waistband of my jeans, and pull the hem of the sweater over the gun. It isn't all that surprising that I have a gun; this is _New York_, after all. My arm aches when the material brushes against it, but I cannot stop. I have to leave as quickly as possible.  
  
Looking around my small, shabby room, I look for anything I have missed. A thought strikes me hard, making me gasp. My mother. Sudden guilt flushes over me, I am abandoning the only flesh and blood I have ever known, but it _is_ best for her if she stays here. She could never cope on the harsh streets. Maybe I can't either, but anything is better than this place.  
  
"Out." I point to the open sliding glass door at the far side of the room, and the dogs scramble out.  
  
I cast one last look into the bedroom I have grown up in, the shabbiest New York apartment I have ever seen. I spot the warm quilts on my bed, then shove them into another duffel bag and heft it to the window and toss it out with one arm over the short railing. The suitcase suffers the same fate. Good thing we are on the first floor.  
  
As I ease my bruising body to the railing, I am about to drop, when I suddenly remember something. I limp back into the room and head for the closet and flip up the fraying carpet and pull the loose floorboards away. I grab the box and head back to the railing and jump out.  
  
It wasn't that far of a distance, but still I land with a sickening thud, my head striking the pavement. A hot, dizzy wave passes over me, and I gasp for breath, pressing a hand to my head. Wet tongues rouse me and I stand up. Though wobbling, I remain on my feet. Disgust is splashed over my face. How am I going to move all of this junk?  
  
My suitcase is large, and has wheels, so I cram the heaviest blanket into it and leave the rest. The wooden box in my hands presents a problem, but I dare not leave it behind. Peering into the duffel bag, I spot a sheet. Hellsar and Zora rip it in half for me with a game of tug-a-war.  
  
I grip one half and awkwardly tie the box to my side. The other, I carefully knot the ends together and slip it over my head. Here comes the hard part. I grip my left wrist with my right hand and quickly shove my broken arm, elbow first, into the roughly made sling. The sudden, jarring movement leaves me breathless for a second and I start to sway. Pain rips through my body as it convulses.  
  
Bile rises up in my throat and I limp over to the hedges quickly to lose whatever I had eaten for dinner. As I pant for breath, I hear whines behind me. So I turn and comfort my dearest friends. Re-adjusting the box, to make sure it is tied securely at my waist, I turn and shuffle back to my suitcase. I lift the handle off of it and drag it along behind me.  



	4. Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR  
  
  
I walk along the shabby streets for hours when I know I cannot move any longer. I shuffle my belongings into an alley way and slump against the wall. The pain in my arm has increased tremendously, and I have to get to a hospital soon. Hiding behind a dumpster, I awkwardly untie the sheet that fastens the wooden box in place.  
  
Grabbing the gun, I flip open the box and study the contents. Bullets, and cash. I load the clip and turn the safety on the gun _off_. As for the cash, I stuff the wad into a hidden pocket in the sweater that I had made in it years before. Not for this purpose, but just because I had a fascination for the secretive at the time.  
  
I settle myself painfully, pressed against the dumpster, and pull the suitcase close. It is then I realize that the three stray dogs have followed me all this time. I wave a hand, beckoning to them. They need no further encouragement and crowd around me. Hellsar lays on the suitcase while Zora and Luc nestle closely. Despite the comfort of the animals, the burning ache in my entire body keeps me awake all night.  
  
Since I cannot sleep, I make use of the time, and think about that night. My stepfather, Beauregard Black, is the representative for TSAM, The Society Against Mutants. TSAM is an organization that is supported by the US government. Mutants are all but outlawed. They think they are all corrupt, and deserve to be killed like dangerous animals when they attack innocent children.  
  
But, not all mutants are bad, and they fail to see that. To TSAM, all mutants are dead mutants. The community is rapidly growing and many innocent people have been slaughtered. Now, those who are mutants hide themselves. They run away from home, and don't give a single word to anyone. In fact, all of the homeless people in New York City under the age of 25 are in fact, mutants.  
  
Mutants are not a disease. They are not a problem that can be solved by killing. Mutants will not stop coming. Ten percent of births in the United States are those who become mutants once adults. When you are born with the mutant gene, your mutancy, if you will, doesn't surface until you hit puberty. Usually, anyway.  
  
I shake my head furiously. _But I am not a mutant!_ I scream silently. If I was, wouldn't I be showing signs by now? I go to push strands of hair from my face when I feel warm wetness on my cheeks. I pull my fingers back in surprise, and am startled to see clear liquid. I have been crying, and I didn't notice.  
  
But, I do wish I were a mutant. To me, I think they are superior because they can do things that us regular people cannot do. I think the TSAM's greatest fear is that mutants may take over the world one day and slaughter all us non-mutants. But, isn't that what _we_ are doing to _them_?  
  
Something big must have happened today at work for Beau. He has always been cruel to me, has always beaten me. But, this time he went farther than he has ever gone before. I wonder, if I didn't have Luc, Hellsar or Zora, would he have killed me?  
  
I gently push Luc off the suitcase and he relinquishes it with a small growl. But, he settles himself next to Zora, and grunts as he rolls over. Smiling at him, I slide the zip of the case open and plunge a hand in. My searching fingers contact the cold frame of the photograph, and I pull it out. It snags on something, and I tug at it with a frenzied impatience. Hearing a rip, the frame is released and I look down at it.  
  
I study my true father's face, and I wonder what his name was. Mother never did tell me. And, for as long as I can remember, I have been Catlionie Black. He was a big bear of a man, wide chest and shoulders, and tall. Well over six feet with a narrow waist, and powerful thighs. He had blue-black hair and kind, gentle brown eyes hidden behind thin framed glasses. He wore a white lab coat and a solid gold watch. Mother told me he was a professor at a university, and the best in his field. But to me, he looked as if he could have been a professional body builder.  
  
He and mother never did marry. I muse to myself, and his name is not on my birth certificate. But he did know of me. The proof is me, so tiny in his large hands. Mother met him when they were both 19 and she fell pregnant quickly.  
  
Sighing, my attention turns to my mother. Laurie Black. But back then, she was Laurie Steinhouser, a prominent law student on the rise. But her dream came crashing down when she got pregnant. She always resented not finishing her degree to become saddled with me. Her feelings rose when, the night after my biological father proposed, he burnt to death in an explosion in his lab. I was two months old at the time.  
  
In the picture she was happy as can be, the photo was taken a month after I was born. My mother is a small woman, with golden yellow hair, shinning with youth and vitality. Her heart shaped face dimpled with delight and her blue eyes appear to dance as the father of her child wrapped an arm around her waist, and cradled his infant with his hands. His expression was one of tenderness, surprise and love.  
  
My mother doesn't know I have this picture; Nana Steinhouser was the one who took the photo and had a copy made, which she gave to me when I was ten. She never did tell me my father's name either. She declared it was my mother's right to tell me, and she wouldn't because it wasn't her place. I miss Nana Steinhouser deeply, she died last year when the heating somehow shut off in her Colorado home in the dead of winter.  
  
Dawn is close to approaching, and I am completely drained. My brain swims fuzzily and my eyelids flicker. Delirium sets in and I toss and turn in a fever. I am soaked in sweat, and mumble incoherently. From far away, it seems, I hear barking of the dogs that keep me company, and I try to lift heavy eyelids that conceal my spinning eyes.  
  
Even in my feverish state, I can see a woman bent over me, and out of the corner of my eye I see a large spaceship. The woman crouched in front of me has skin the colour of mahogany, and her hair is snow white. She looks familiar, so familiar. Orora... my foggy brain re-collects. The mysterious woman presses a lean brown hand to my forehead.  
  
I hear her yell something behind her when I scream as she goes to move me. But, for what seems to be the trillionth time that day, I black out once more in a dizzying flash of heat and pain.  



	5. Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE  
  
I wake up screaming, my arms and legs thrashing, fighting with a constricting force around my legs. My body is soaked in perspiration. Then suddenly, I stop. Panting, I fling my eyes open to an unfamiliar surgical room. I instantly start screaming again as a furry blue beast enters the room. It hastily retreats, but I do not notice because I shut my eyes so tightly, not even a crowbar could manage to pry them open.  
  
"Hush, hush." A warm, pleasant woman voice soothes, "Calm down sweetheart. You are OK. Please, open your eyes.  
  
I halt my screaming and cautiously open one cat-like eye. Bent over me is a woman's kind face. Her eyes are a warm chocolate brown, and her hair was as red as fire. Freckles dash across her nose. She smiles at me, a reassuring, encouraging smile. Lifting her head back she places a hand on my cold arm.  
  
"I'm Jean Gray." She says kindly.  
  
_ So that was it!_ I exclaim to myself, both eyes wide. Jean Gray The representative of the group ERFM, Equality Rights For Mutants. The founder, Professor Charles Xavier, is said to be the most powerful telepath in the world. Knowing this, many a person have vowed to kill him; as he is a mutant.  
  
Thrown back to the present, my mouth falls open, "Where am I?" I cry, uncertain and afraid.  
  
"Please do not be frightened, miss." She places a reassuring hand on my arm, my left one. "You are in the home of Professor Xavier."  
  
I feel my heart stop, and then "Don't touch my arm! It's broken!" as I wail, I feel a small tingling at the base of my skull, somehow saying it wasn't right.  
  
Shaking her head, Dr. Gray gently folds back the covers. I look down. My arm is completely healed.  
  
"But my..." I try to lift my right hand up to the base of my throat, but I am caught on the IV. I turn stunned eyes to Jean.  
  
"We have advanced healing facilities, we thought it was best if we healed you right up." She spoke as if placating a small child after he drops his ice-cream cone.  
  
"And my..." I lift my left hand up, to my face, and I am surprised at how weak it is. In fact, I can barely lift it. I feel all around my face. My face isn't swollen anymore, and the gash just above my hairline is gone. "What happened?"  
  
Jean leans forward on the chair beside the hospital bed, "I will tell you, little stranger, but, I don't want to frighten you."  
  
I look at her in mute appeal and she sighs.  
  
"You were badly beaten, I'm afraid. You suffered a badly broken arm, the most damage I have ever seen dealt to one as young as you. Also, you had a broken collar bone, multiple contusions and bruising all over your entire body. When we found you, you were almost dead." My mouth parts in a dry gasp, but I urge her to continue. Swallowing painfully, Dr. Gray continues, "I do not know who could have done this to you, my dear. When we found you on the streets, we immediately thought you had been mugged. But we found that your injuries were so intense..." Her eyes flicker down, she is hiding something.  
  
I place a cold, clammy hand on her warm one, and my eyes fill up with tears, "Please tell me, it's best for me to know what happened to me, please don't keep it from me." I rush out with a shaky smile.  
  
Dr. Gray looks up with spiked black lashes, and wet brown eyes. "Very well," she continues, "You were beaten within an inch of your life." I can see her throat convulse, and I feel mine as well, hot, bitter tears flow down my cheeks. "You suffered so severe a concussion that you were in a coma for three months.  
  
My heart stops, "Three months?"  
  
Dr. Gray nods, "We weren't sure that you would pull through. All we could do was to heal your injuries and wait for the day you would wake up." She stops, and her eyes widen, as if suddenly remembering something. Getting up, she dashes to the other side of the room and returns within seconds and hands me a rectangular object.  
  
"What is this?" I ask, taking it from her.  
  
"We found you clutching onto it." She pauses as I stare at it. "What is it a photo of?" she prods lightly.  
  
"My mother, me and... My father." I hear a gasp from across the room as something metal falls to the floor with a loud clang. Glass shatters and I lift confused, puzzled eyes to where the sound came from.  
  
The blue beast! I screech and pull the covers over my head, heart hammering heavily against my chest.  
  
I hear Dr. Gray rise and shoo the beast man out of the room, hearing a murmured, "She's not ready for you yet!"  
  
She comes back in and sits by my bedside, "Please, come out of there." I don't budge an inch, "Please--- I don't even know your name! He's gone now. Please come out.  
  
Sucking breath into my lungs, I lift the sheet off my head. Catlionie Black... Should I give her my true name? No, I shake my head shortly, "My name is Cat. And until recently I followed under the last name Black. But, that is not my true last name. It was my step-father's last name, and I will never use it again." A hard, cool rage flicks across my eyes, and Jean sits back.  
  
"I think you've had enough shocks today, Cat, so I will leave you to rest."  
  
_ Good idea,_ I think, as she rises to leave. I am extremely tired. Funny, after I have been sleeping a solid three months. "Wait!" a grip her hand tightly.  
  
"Yes?" she asks.  
  
"I, uh..." I can feel my face flame with embarrassment, "I have to go to the bathroom. And I refuse to use those bedpans." I mutter, adverting my eyes from Dr. Gray, not mentioning the fact that I must have used them through my coma.  
  
Nodding, Dr. Gray understands. But, she frowns. "I cannot move you by myself." She also, doesn't mention she could move me with her telekinesis, but she is trying to gain my trust, and she doesn't want to upset my view of her.  
  
"Oh, well..." I mumble, "I guess I'll just ignore it." I go to turn to sleep.  
  
"Wait," she places a hand on my arm, and I open sleepy eyes to look at her.  
  
"Yes?" It is difficult to speak with my thick tongue.  
  
"There_ is_ someone who could move you, but I'm afraid you are going to have to stop screaming at him." She says with a rueful smile, "He dropped your lunch the last time."  
  
I pull my eyebrows together in a marring frown. And Dr. Gray hurriedly goes on, "Please, Cat, he isn't so bad. He is very gentle and kind."  
  
"That's not what bothers me. Yes, I admit, he was a shock to first see... But... It's that... He's a _guy_."  
  
Jean chuckles, "Don't worry, he won't look."  
  
"Okay..." I say reluctantly, I have no choice, my bladder is dying to be released.  
  
Jean snaps her fingers and shouts, "Graham, get in here!"  
  
Graham, the blue furry beast enters the room cautiously, and I stare at him with wide, golden eyes.  
  
"Get over here." Dr. Gray waves an arm at him, and he shuffles over.  
  
I look up into his face and receive a shock. Staring at me is familiar black eyes, and thin framed glasses. He is dressed in a white lab coat and some kind of shorts. Adorned on his wrist is a golden watch. My eyes widen, but I cannot place a finger on what I am feeling. Graham's eyes are full of tenderness, wonder, and shock.  
  
"Uh..." I blink, breaking the spell.  
  
"Oh, sorry." He speaks hurriedly and removes my IV with bulky, yet deft fingers, then swings me easily up into his arms.  
  
I feel comfortable in his arms, as if I belong. His embrace promises me of devotion and protectiveness. Shaking my head at my foolish thoughts, I realize we have reached the bathroom. Graham sets me down just over the threshold and takes an awkward step back. I then see he is extremely nervous, but I cannot imagine why.  
  
Smiling softly at him, I shut the door but do not check to see if there is a lock. Turning around, I suffer such a shock that I topple backwards and sail through the door. _Through the door?_ _Yes!_ I scream and am surprised to be enveloped in strong, furry arms.  
  
My eyes are wide as I look at the two occupants of the room, "What was that?" I wail, and would have fallen to my knees had I not been supported by Graham.  
  
Dr. Gray scrambles over and urges, "Please, Cat, use the bathroom, and after that, we will talk as much as you like."  
  
I nod dumbly and am led back into the bathroom. I shut the door behind me once more. Then, braced, I turn around and face the full length mirror. Still reeling in shock, I stagger on flaccid legs to the wall.  
  
Where am I? I touch the reflection softly, feeling the cool glass beneath my finger tips. Staring me back in the face, was not the plump face I recognized. In place of my round cheeks and head, were a slender, heart shaped face with high cheek bones. My eyes travel down the mirror and take in the unshapely nightgown, and rip it off.  
  
A gasp escapes my lips as my fingers travel over my now near flat stomach, and dramatically smaller thighs. Spotting a weightscale on the other side of the room, I trudge toward it and look down to see my weight. 120 lbs! My smile lights up the room and I close my eyes in bliss.  
  
I am not fat anymore! I'm not! I don't have the energy to do a happy dance, so I simply plop down onto the toilet, and do my business. What happened in that coma? I have always been 170 lbs, well, ever since I hit puberty anyway, and how could I lose 50 pounds in three months?  
  
I wash my hands and slip the gown back on, shuffling to the door again. I open it and look embarrassed to Dr. Gray. "D-Dr. Gray..." I start.  
  
"Please, call me Jean." She smiles and takes my hands.  
  
"Okay, Jean." Shyly I turn my head away and smile. Then I glance to Graham, then back to Jean, "Jean, what happened to me? Why am I so... Thin?" my cheeks flame, and my toe nudges the linoleum floor.  
  
"Dietary supplements!" Jean respond amiably, slowly leading me back to my bed.  
  
"What?"  
  
"When you were in your coma, we had to feed you intravenously, the IV. Noticing you were, well, alittle on the heavy side, I decided to mix in a special formula that would help you lose weight while being fed through the needle." She seems a bit flustered.  
  
"Why, thank you!" I gush and hug her tightly.  
  
"Uh," she clears her throat, awkwardly patting my back. Cheeks flaming crimson, I pull back and sit down on the bed. "Uh, that's not all. Now, you will be able to eat anything you want and not gain a single pound." She continues, "However, I do not recommend that approach. You should eat right; healthy, and exercise."  
  
I nod slowly, as if agreeing with her. But, my mind is spinning, trying to process all the information I had gained that day. Wearily, I say, "I think I should get some sleep."  
  
"Yes, see you in the morning." She walks off and Graham approaches me, and helps me get into bed. "Thank you, Graham." I smile my warmest smile at him, then my eyes drift close and I succumb to sleep.  
  
Long after I fell asleep, Graham still sat there. Devouring me with his eyes, unashamed, his fierce face trickles with a few tears. Removing his spectacles, he wipes at his eyes with a handkerchief. Rising a little while later, he kisses me on the forehead and whispers something in my ear. Then, he quietly walks away.   



	6. Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX  
  
It takes several days, nearly a week, until I am fully able to walk on my own, and three weeks until I am fully recovered. I may even get to go back to school tomorrow! Tomorrow is September 9, the first day of school...  
  
During the month of convalescing I have been getting fit, getting in shape. I lost the few extra pounds that I still had. Now, I am 110 lbs., lean, and fit. It still boggles the mind, to me anyway. To look at me now, would be a shock to anyone I once knew. I look small, delicate. I look like a little child, and so far, no one has guessed my true age. No one has bothered to ask either. I am short for my age at just two inches over five feet. I could pass for a pre-teen even! But, I have breasts, which throws the whole guessing game off.  
  
Anyway, I have grown to know Graham as one of the gentlest person I have ever heard of, let alone meet. But, when he is around me, he acts like I am delicate china, and he is a bull in the china shop.  
  
Me and him, have become rather close. He still reminds me of someone though, but I can't quite put my finger on who it would be. I can't believe it is September already. It was May when I was beaten so badly, I was almost killed. I still haven't told Jean how it happened exactly.  
  
Over the month, my mutancy has grown to phenomenal levels. What freaked me out before, the passing through walls; was my mutancy! Well, not completely _all_. I was named aptly as Catlionie. Two cat names! That reason is because I have the sharp hearing, eye sight, strong sense of scent, and the reflexes of felines.  
  
I get to meet the head honcho; Professor X, today. Jean has explained to me that she is a telepath, and she can move objects with her mind. I also know what the Professor's powers are through my step-father. I haven't met any other mutant except for Jean and Graham. I wonder what happened to the beautiful African woman with the snow white hair?  
  
I'm not quite sure what Graham's powers are, except for his abnormal appearance. He also has high intelligence. But, unlike me, he was _not_ born with the mutant gene. He hasn't told me how he became to be the way he is, and it's his own prerogative to tell me if he wishes.  
  
I am quite nervous as I walk up the ramp to the Professor's private office. I am lead by Jean, Graham had mysteriously disappeared. I ask Jean where he is, but she gives no comment, so I let the matter drop.  
  
Approaching the wide gray metal door, Jean presses her face into a gel-like substance. Then says her name. The door beeps, and slides open. When I ask what the gel stuff was, she replies, "It's a retinal scan. It also takes an imprint of my face, that no one else has. And, as for stating my name, the computer also takes a voice confirmation."  
  
"Wow. High security." I say as we stride into the room. I stop short at the sight of Professor X. Although I have seen him many times on TV, in real life he is much more impressive and formidable.  
  
Charles Xavier's skin is a honey white, and, in places, touched with a bit of age. He is completely bald; reasons unknown. His nose is large, and sculpted into a roman style. His hard as black flint eyes gleam at me from underneath bushy gray eyebrows. His mouth is set in a permanent grim line. Tension marks fan around his mouth. But what strikes me most is his wheelchair. It hovers in mid air, making me gulp, and step back, forgetting my new found confidence.  
  
"Miss Black, please step forward." I gulp nervously and do as Professor X requests.  
  
Lowering his hover-wheelchair to the ground, he looks me in the eyes. Feeling uncomfortable under his probing gaze, I glance away, and break contact. Hearing a bark of laughter, I turn back with quizzical eyes.  
  
"P-professor X?" my voice has a small tremor. "Is there, something wrong?"  
  
"Oh no, dear heavens child! You took me quite by surprise."  
  
My eyebrow lifts in question, "Pardon me, sir? Surprise?"  
  
Smiling, he places a warm hand on my forearm, just below my shirt, "You have quite a powerful mind! I wasn't expecting you to be able to turn away so quickly. But, alas, you do not have any telepathic powers." He smiles sadly at this, and my other eyebrow raises. "But, you see," he hurries on, "Your mind is strong, and if I can just penetrate it, I don't know of anyone else how could!" he laughs, and I give him a shaky smile.  
  
"Jean, would you grab a chair for Cat, please?"  
  
"Of course, Professor." She retrieves a chair and I slide into it. Jean fades away to the sidelines, and I forget about her.  
  
"Now, my dear, on to serious matters." I glance away nervously, "You have told us that you have no family. Is this true?"  



	7. Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN  
  
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, but decide not to lie to Professor X, "No, it isn't sir. You see," I rush out, "Four months ago I was badly beaten." The professor nods, following the story. "And, well... I never said who did it." I cough, and clear my throat. Leveling my eyes, I look back to the professor, "It was Beauregard Black."  
  
I hear Jean gasp, and look over to her. Her young face is shocked, mouth hanging open. Professor X gives a small growl. "That bloody man! How did---"  
  
"No," I cut him off. "Beau Black is my step-father."  
  
Charles' head rears back and he looks at me. "Step-father?"  
  
"Yes." I say quietly and nod my head.  
  
"I, see..." he says, "And your mother?"  
  
"Still with him, sir." Suddenly I throw myself to my knees and sob at him, "Please!" I grip his hand, "Please don't send me back! Let me stay here!" my eyes brims with unshed tears.  
  
"Hush, little kitty." Charles strokes my long tresses, and I look up at him, "We will not send you back to him. Actually, we want to keep you here. Through a legal battle, you have been made a warden of the court. And I have adopted you."  
  
I smile so large, my face like it is going to fall off. Spontaneously, I hug him.  
  
"And, we are going to enroll you in school. However," he hurriedly says as I open my mouth, "We have no idea how old you are, or in what grade!" he chuckles.  
  
"Oh, well, no one has asked, so I didn't bother to mention it. I'm 16, and I _was_ in grade 10."  
  
"SIXTEEN!" Jean exclaims, mouth popping open, "I'm just 18, only _two_ years older than you!"  
  
"Eighteen? I thought you were. Er--- older..." I turn to Xavier.  
  
"Very well, Cat. We'll advance you to eleventh grade, and, if you feel you can't keep up, we can switch you back to second semester of grade 10. Sound good?" I nod ecstatically.  
  
"Is that all?" I go to turn away when he calls out.  
  
"Wait! There's one more matter that we need to discuss privately. Jean," he turns to her, "would you please exit the room?" he looks kindly to her and she smiles lightly, and slips through the door after following the procedure.  
  
"Yes, Sir?" my wide, clear amber eyes are questioning.  
  
"It concerns that... Picture."  
  
"This one?" I quickly pull the photograph of my family from the bag attached to my side and extend it to him.  
  
Professor X studies the photograph, and nods, as if confirming something, and hands it back.  
  
"What about it, professor?" I put the photograph away.  
  
"It's--- your father. Your biological father." My lips part, but only dry air rasps out. "What do you know about your father?"  
  
Anxiously, I lick my lips and reply, "He died when I was two months old. In a lab explosion.  
  
Charles nods, then frowns, "There was an explosion that night, Kittie, but... Your father _did not die_."  
  
I fall off my chair. "My father is... _alive_?" my voice is full of wonder as I lift myself back up onto my seat.  
  



	8. Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT  
  
  
"Yes." Pausing, he putters away, the comes back. "Would you like to see him?"  
  
"Oh yes!" I cry, leaping up. Then, "You... He's, here?"  
  
"Yes. He too, is a mutant. But, Kittie, before you get too excited, there is some bad news."  
  
"Whatever, I don't care. As long as my father is alive!" I practically shout, then demure and blush, sitting back down.  
  
"Very well. You father did not die in that explosion. However, he was horribly disfigured. He does not look like he once did."  
  
Calmly, I nod, my face solemn, "How bad?"  
  
Letting out a sigh, Charles continues, "Not too bad. Depends on you look at it. Now." He waves a hand. "I will show him to you." I stand up and follow him across the room to another set of doors. "Are you ready for this?" at my slow, unsure nod, he opens the door.  
  
Looking at my father, face to face, I let out a strangled squawk and slump to the ground in a faint. Obviously, I was not ready.  
  
I wake to a light slap in my face. Groggy, my head rolls around, and my eyes open on a moan. Graham! Is the first thing I see. Wait... Not Graham. Dad! He smiles down at me with a worried look, "So, do I call ya pops now, or what?" I joke, and he breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
Graham helps me up and then I frown at him, "You knew the whole time, didn't you?" I accuse lightly.  
  
"Yes, yes I did." But, I could not have been happier as I squeeze onto him in a great bear hug. In my excitement, I forget my powers and sail right through him.  
  
Landing on the floor, all I can do is laugh. Graham joins me in my laughter, then all of a sudden we both stop, "Graham, is it okay if I call you that for a while?" he nods, "Why did you disappear out of my life like that?"  
  
His good humour gone, he sobers up, and right then, I notice we are alone in the room. "Do you think your mother would want to be with me? No," he shakes his head, "I had to leave. I can't hide what I look like right now, and I thought you would be better off with out me."  
  
"Never mind," I shake my glossy head at him, "It's all in the past. But," I pause, and look at him, "How do you know I am your daughter?"  
  
"Simple," he replies. "After I overheard you tell Jean that the man in the picture was your father. And, after all, I have seen the photo and recognized it as me, there was only one last step to do. DNA test." He pauses for breath, "We do have a sample of yours on record from when you first arrived, and I did a simple DNA test to see if we were compatible, and we are."  
  
"Okay. Fine with me," I believe him. And why shouldn't I? He looks like the man in the photo, except with blue fur and a slight change in features and muscles. I will ask Jean later for the test. "Enough doom and gloom, but, I am glad you are my father. I know I had to have gotten my brains from somewhere!" I tap the side of my skull.  
  
"You... what?"  
  
Mumbling, almost ashamed, I admit, "I was something as a genius the last time I was in school. Not," I try to correct, "like I felt like it at all."  
  
My father and I talk for several hours, catching up on each others' life when we realize the time, "My gosh! It's nearly seven! We're late for dinner." I exclaim with a worried glance at my digital watch.  
  
"Right." He agrees and we leave the room. I go to walk back down to the hospital wing, when Graham takes my arm to detain me.  
  
"What?" I demand, almost rudely.  
  
"You can join us at dinner. All of us." He responds gently.  
  
My eyes widen, "_All?_ You mean, the other gifted?" I am doubtful.  
  
"Yes, and you no longer have to sleep in the infirmary!"  
  
"Why?" my eyes narrow, "Because I'm your daughter?"  
  
"No!" his tone is harsh, then continues more softly, "Because you are a student here, you are member of this household. Who, I may add, has fully recovered!"  
  
"Oh!" my eyes widen. "I'm sorry." I say, laced with regret.  
  
"Never mind that," he says gently.  
  
"If... You don't mind, I'd rather not meet them right now."  
  
Graham nods slowly, a trifle disappointed, but, all in good time.  
  
"Oh," I hesitate, "and could we keep our relationship a secret until I feel more confident to tell people?"  
  
"As you wish, sweetheart. We are the only ones who know, besides the Professor, of course." He rubs his hands together, "Okay, let us go to the infirmary to gather your belongings."  
  
"No." I halt him, my hand against his furry chest, "I have nothing of importance there. All that I need is here in this bag." I pat my medium sized carry-all bag held by a strap across my shoulder.  
  
"Okay..." Graham gently leads me in the opposite direction of the Hospital Wing. We go left instead of right.  
  
In the month that I have been here, I have not been outside the Hospital Wing. Hey, don't get me wrong, it's huge! Equipped with a weight room and a TV, and a small library; I was set for... life.  
  
We go through many doors and corridors, I avoid curious eyes by looking down at the ground, downcast. Afraid of the rippling voices. Once, all they had to say were spiteful things to me. And, in everything that has happened, I still feel the same. I don't like to be stared at like some goddamn science project. The fat girl; will I always remain so?  
  
Abruptly, we enter the main lobby, Graham points out, and travel up a large staircase. Through a few halls, we approach a room, and my father opens it wide. I enter cautiously.  
  
The room is absolutely gorgeous! With a high ceiling and dark mahogany solid wooden dressers and cabinets, red decor, and a four poster bed! The bed, is also made of solid wood with a red netting around the top, and a deep red, near the colour of blood duvet. At the foot of the bed is a large wooden trunk equipped with a modern looking lock. The lock is hand shaped, and I curiously press my palm into it. The lid springs open and I peer inside.  
  
It was empty, but that doesn't bother me and I shut the lid tight. "Is this... all mine?" my whisper is shaky.  
  
"Yes, and that trunk is specially designed so that only you and Xavier may open it. And maybe, with time, you may receive something special to put in there." His eyes twinkle mischievously, and I shrug then throw myself onto the bed.  
  
"Oh! It's so comfortable. Thank you, whoever was responsible." I sigh blessedly.  
  
"Would you like a tray sent up?" my father queries.  
  
"Oh, no thanks, I'm not too hungry. I'm just going to study for a little bit then head off to bed." Graham nods, smiling, totally unbecoming on his beastly face, and I hesitate, "Uh, I have a problem..."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I, uh, I have no clothes." My face flushes crimson, embarrassed by my lack of funds.  
  
The beast-man strides over to the tall chest cabinet and throws it open. I gasp in surprise. It is littered with clothes! I hop off the bed in a fluid arc and take light, fast steps over to it, "Are they---?" I let the question dangle, too afraid that they weren't real.  
  
"They are all yours, Kittie. Correct size. Well, I assume so, because the professor told Jean and Orora your size. I, I don't know if they are your style or.." he trails of and clears his throat, then steps off to the side awkwardly.  
  
"No! No, they're perfect." I finger the clothes, they were exactly the clothes I always dreamed of! Not to mention the size!  
  
"Also," Graham continues.  
  
"Yes?" I'm hopeful, a rare, true smiles makes my face shine.  
  
"In the drawers are more, casual clothes, and, err--- Undergarments. Shoes in the closet and a surprise in the en suite bathroom."  
  
"I have my own bathroom?" I practically faint.  
  
"Yes, well, no, not quite." He shuffles. "You will be sharing with one of the other students attached on the other side of the bathroom. Now," He pauses, "I will leave you to yourself and head off to my dinner."  
  
"Thank you so much!" I give him a huge bear hug, and he gasps for breath. Forgetting my strength is one thing I'll have to watch...  
  



	9. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE  
  
For the past hour and a half I have been wandering around my room, inspecting everything in the drawers. The surprise in the bathroom was makeup. Lots of it. Creams, lotions, perfumes, a gorgeous red black and gold silk kimono, electric tooth brush. You name it, it was there.  
  
My studying forgotten, I am rifting through clothes when a knock at my door startles me. I whirl around and bash my shin on the dresser. Hopping, and swearing lightly, I fling the door open. Looking down, my light honey blondish hair curtains my face, masking my features. I am rubbing my bruising shin, when I see frayed Nike sneakers. My eyes travel up well worn jeans, emphasizing well shaped thighs and the light bulge at the apex of the thighs.  
  
Blushing madly, my eyes trail up further to a light blue cotton tee-shirt, which, underneath, muscles rippled. Then, farther still. Dark brown hair curls around the up-turned collar. My warm amber eyes settle on the handsomest face I have ever seen. Powerful jaw, perfectly shaped nose, except for that one scar. His skin has no mar to it. And his eyes are such a deep forest green that my knees almost instantly melt. My heartbeat pounds against my chest, and I wonder if the betraying pulse can be seen at the base of my throat.  
  
Realizing I am staring, my face flushes a deeper crimson and I angrily shove my mass of light hair of my face. Not registering the male's reaction to me, I place my hands on my hips.  
  
"Wadda'ya want?" I lift a shaggy eyebrow at him. It is then when I realize what I am wearing. Beaten old male boxers and a huge sweater. My face is all shinny from the exertion I had done that day.  
  
Trying to hide a horrified look, he mumbles, "Sorry, wrong room." He turns away and starts to amble off down the hallway.  
  
For an instant, I almost call out to him, but by the time I drag up enough courage, it is too late; he's gone.  
  
"Pshhh, this is Jean to outer space, is Cat there? Psshhh, I repeat; this is Jean to outer space, do you copy?" a voice startles me out of my daydream, and I look at Jean with wide eyes.  
  
I blink, registering, then laugh, "Come on in." I beckon her into the room.  
  
Jean whistles, "Wow, lookit all this stuff!"  
  
I'm flustered, "What? Doesn't everyone receive this?"  
  
"Oh! Oh yes," now it's her turn to be flustered, "But I arrived such along time ago, I'd forgotten how much stuff you get."  
  
"Well," I shrug, "it was really nice of the Professor. So," I switch topics, shutting the bedroom door, "where is your bedroom?"  
  
Winking, the flame haired girl points, "Next door!"  
  
"Really? That is so cool." I gush, then instantly sober and look down.  
  
"What? What's a matter?" Jean wears a worried frown.  
  
"Oh, it's nothing." Uncomfortably I shrug, then flop down on the bed and draw my knees to my chest. Resting my cheek on my kneecaps, I mumble, "It's just that, I don't ... I'm not looking forward to tomorrow."  
  
Jean slides on the bed next to me, "Oh no? Why?"  
  
"Because. Well. Just look at me!" I burst out in a sob, then bury my face in my knees and try unsuccessfully to hold back the tears.  
  
Jean gently lifts my head, "I see nothing wrong with you. Nothing."  
  
"That may be so, but I just don't feel, pretty." Hurriedly, I tell her about the boy at my door, leaving out the bits of my attraction.  
  
Groaning, Jean rolls off the bed and heads for the bathroom. Curious, I sit up and look at her. At the door, she turns around and queries, "Coming with?"  
  
I hop off the bed and follow her into the bathroom, "What are we doing?"  
  
"How 'bout a makeover?" Jean's hand is splayed out to the bathroom, and with a flourish she brands a hair brush.  
  
Mock screaming, I run away, "Nooo! Anything but that!"  
  
Cackling, Jean imitates a witch's voice, "I'll get you my pretty, Ahahahaha!"  
  
After several minutes of fooling around, we try to sober up, wiping at our tears. "Okay, Okay." I wheeze, trying to catch my breath while still laughing. "Let's do it."  



	10. Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN  
  
"Are you sure?" Jean asks, suddenly serious.  
  
"Yeah, just leave the hair alone for awhile, okay? Member," I level a look into her eyes. "I'm trusting you."  
  
"Don't worry, I'm great at this!"  
  
"Yeah, I can tell." I mumble quietly. Jean is utterly gorgeous. Her flaming red hair could be drawn right from a fire, her complexion is smooth and clear. Her body is in perfect proportion with a slim waist, and fairly large breasts.  
  
"What?" she turns her attention back to me. Something small and silver flashes in her hand.  
  
"Nothing," I hurry out, "What is that?" I point to her hand holding the silver object.  
  
"Tweezers."  
  
I back away, "And what do they do?"  
  
"They are for your eyebrows silly!"  
  
"What about my eyebrows?" my tone is defensive.  
  
"Nothing, well, if you like caterpillars. But,!" she halts my tongue from speaking with her hand, "It actually suits you, but I think I can make them even better."  
  
"Will it hurt?" I'm dubious.  
  
"I'm not going to lie; yes, it does. But only at first!" she placates my outburst. "Do you trust me?"  
  
"With my life." I say simply and honestly.  
  
"Good." Ten _painful_ minutes later, Jean cries, "Voila!" I go to turn my head, "No! Ze patient must not look at 'er reflection until ze mastah has feenished 'er johb!" Jean puts on a horrible French accent which makes me wince.  
  
"Okay..." I sigh, and tie my massive hair out of the way. Although lightweight, I have alot of it.  
  
I close my eyes and give in to Jean's capable hands. I do not know what she just put on my skin, but it _tingles!_  
  
"What is that?" I ask as she massages it into the skin on my face.  
  
"Cleansing wash. It leaves your skin healthy and glowing, and free of dirt. Wow," she whistles as she washes it off with a cloth, "You should see how well it worked."  
  
I stubbornly refuse to open my eyes.  
  
Nearly an hour later, Jean declares that she is finished tampering with me. I stand up and face the mirror, opening my eyes. I gasp as I stare yet another stranger. I do not recognize this hauntingly pretty female staring at me.  
  
With my hair drawn up, the style offers my high sculpted cheek bones more prominence and, with a hint of blush. I have a tan, due to the tanning booth I have visited frequently in the small weight room. The tan makes my usually ghost pale skin shine with an extremely healthy glow. My eyes, emphasized with mascara and eyeliner, are wide and almond shaped, holding burning amber orbs. My 'new' eyebrows contribute to the sultry shape of my eyes, and I am glad those big scragglers were gone for good.. My nose is well, still my nose and perfectly ordinary, a little on the small side, but it fits in with the rest of my body. My mouth is wide, sensual. And... pouty?  
  
I turn to Jean, "I look... pretty. Thank you so much." I hug her tightly.  
  
"No problem, Kittie. But, it was all you. All I did was apply makeup and curb those 'brows."  
  
"No, still, thanks. Can you... Can you show me how to." My finger circles around my face.  
  
"Sure!" we spend the next little while doing things to my face. Jean, teaching me how, and me learning.  
  
I am sitting in the rotating chair, looking at the huge mirrors spanning the counter, brushing my hair, when the question pops out, "Lets cut it."  
  
Startled, Jean drops the magazine she'd been leafing through. Retrieving it, she places it on the counter, "You sure?"  
  
"Yes. Yeah.. Well, I don't want_ all_ of it cut off. Maybe to just, my shoulder blades?" my hands cut off the hair at the suggested spot, and I raise my newly sculpted eyebrows. Blinking my long lashes innocently, "How 'bout it?"  
  
Jean frowns, but she is excited, "Only if you are absolutely sure!" she holds the scissors and approaches.  
  
Taking a deep breath, I say bravely, "Yes."  



	11. Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN  
  
  
Jean snips away my hair, not leaving me time to change my mind. "There!" some ten minutes later.  
  
I open my eyes and peer at my hair. "Jean! You're a genius!" My hair turned a little wavy and floats about my shoulders with the grace of the queen dancing on the ball-room floor. "I love it!" I wash my make-up and pat dry my face with a soft towel.  
  
We clean up the bathroom, and walk back into my room. I go to open my mouth when an announcement rings out, "Alright fellow gifted students. This is I, Tobias Clarke, bidding you good night. Would all students please return to their own rooms? Bedtime. Pleasant dreams everyone, and have a fun day at school tomorrow." His voice is rather snide, but underneath it, something _very_ familiar.  
  
"Agh!" Jean exclaims, "I hate that pompous ass!"  
  
"Jean!" I'm shocked.  
  
Sheepishly, she adds, "He thinks he's the king of us, because he's the head student. And he doesn't hesitate to rub it in!"  
  
"Not for long." I say to myself privately. Then, with suspicion, "What does this Tobias Clarke look like?"  
  
"Oh, well." She blows a stray strand of hair off her forehead, "Never paid much attention." At my frown, she adds, "Very well. I don't know that much, but he's well built, brown hair, either green or gray eyes. Tallish." She waves a hand.  
  
"Is his hair rather shaggy, to about here?" I rest my finger tips to my collar, "And curly? And he has a scar across his nose?"  
  
"Why, yes, how'd you know Kittie?"  
  
  
"He's the boy from my doorway earlier!" I blurt out.  
  
Her eyes widen, "Really? I wonder what he was doing up here?"  
  
"Maybe to welcome me to 'Mutant High' and got scared by my beauty?" I flutter my eyelashes and fall to my bed in a fake swoon.  
  
"Maybe..." Jean starts, but I cut her off.  
  
"No! Don't go there. I know I'm no prize, and _definitely_ not _before_ my 'makeover'. I think he was rather aghast, and fled!"  
  
Chuckling, Jean shrugs, "We should turn in now. Sorry to be rude, but we should get up early to get you ready for school! Set your alarm for six."  
  
Smiling, I nod and say goodnight. After Jean leaves and shuts her door with a small click, I strip off my clothes, and look into the drawer with my 'undergarments' and change into a nearly sheer black nightgown. I don't know _where_ it came from, but everything else were too hot to wear in the hot climate. And I refuse to sleep naked.  
  
Turning off the light with the switch by the door, I slowly edge my way to the bed and slide in beneath the cool duvet. Making sure the alarm is on, I roll over and against my will, my eyes start to flutter closed, and within seconds I am snoozing.  



	12. Chapter Twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE  
  
I am abruptly wakened by an annoying buzz. Groaning, my arm flails out to smack the incessant wail. Grinning with success I start to drift back asleep, when there is a knock at my door.  
  
Groaning I roll back over, but the knock becomes more persistent, "Ya ya! _I'm coming_." I swing my feet over the edge, and shiver. I wipe the sleep from my eyes, and smooth my hair back. The knock sounds again, "I'm coming!" I stress.  
  
I walk to the door and lethargically turn the knob and let the heavy door swing open with a loud groan. There's no one there! I go to shut the door once more when my bare toes brush against something. Glancing down, I see a back pack. I pick it up and start investigating.  
  
"Good morning, student." I hear a sneer, and glance up.  
  
Startled honey eyes meet clashing green, I drop the bag and stare stupidly at Tobias, "Uhh.." is all I can manage.  
  
Sucking in a breath, Tobias's gaze roves over me and I glance down. Abruptly grabbing the bag, I clutch it to my chest and slam the door in his face, "_Basta_." I swear at him.  
  
"Who was that?" A sleepy voice sounds behind me.  
  
I turn and reply, "None other than Tobias Clarke!"  
  
"That sneaky bastard. But, I suppose he has a legitimate reason for walking past. The only way to get from his floor out to the main hall is down the staircase at the end of the corridor." Jean reasons. "What's that?" she points at the bag.  
  
"A back pack. With everything I need to start school, with my name all over it."  
  
"Really?" she asks incredulously.  
  
"Yeah! I wonder who left it."  
  
"Tobias?" Jean offers.  
  
"No," I shake my head. "He wasn't in the hall when I got the bag."  
  
"Huh, oh well. As I always say, 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'! Now for what to wear for school!" Jean studies me. "I know just the thing!" She dashes over to the closet.  
  
"What?" I try to peer over her shoulder but she sends me away.  
  
"Hold your horses." She snorts, "Two horse references in that many minutes. Hunh!"  
  
"Heh..." I half-heartedly chuckle.  
  
"Here!" she tosses a white blouse at me then runs over to the dressers and throws a pair of black jeans at me, and then from another drawer, a sunrise coloured, crushed velvet vest. Jean walks back into her room to get herself changed.  
  
I get my own underwear and brazier, and head to the bathroom to change and shower. I whip of the nightie, brush my teeth, wash my face and then wash my hair quickly in the shower. After blow-drying my hair, I put on the wisp of black lace for underwear and then the pants.  
  
To my amazement, they were extremely snug and low riding to expose my navel. They weren't too tight and, turning, I notice that my ass looks hot in my reflection. Looking at the shirts, I decide to fore-go the white shirt and, after putting on my bra, put the vest on. It fit nicely. Also, snug without being tight, and incredibly soft. The zipper matches the vest, making it appear seamless. Vee-necked with no sleeves, the shirt was a knock-out that exposed the swell of my breasts.   
  
I tie my hair out of the way and expertly apply make up the way Jean showed me last night. I let my hair out of its confinements, and let it cascade around my face and shoulders. Running a brush through it, makes the hair shine and look baby-soft.  
  
I pick up the white shirt and go back into my room. There is something I hadn't noticed on my dresser, and I pad over in bare feet to take a closer look. It is what appears to be a jewelry box. I lift the lid and peer inside. Not stunned by the lavished gifts anymore, I extract two small silver studs and insert them in my ears. Then I tie a necklace around my neck and fix the pentacle until it rests gentle at the hollow of my throat.  
  
From my dresser, I put my digital watch back on. Jean knocks on my door, and I tell her to come in. Jean's mouth is agape as she takes in my appearance, mouth flapping like a fish.  
  
"You look... Fabulous!" Jean hugs me. Jean wears blue jeans that fit like a second skin and a purple tee-shirt. No jewelry.  
  
"You too." My voice is honest. "I decided to toss the white shirt. Is this... appropriate for school?" a trace of anxiety creeps into my voice.  
  
"No no. You aren't exposing anything outrageous. You'll be fine." Jean shrugs, "Lets go down to breakfast now, shall we?"  



	13. Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN  
  
  
We leave my room and go down the hall. At the bottom of the staircase, I ask, "Where's the kitchen?"  
  
"Behind the dining room." Responding automatically.  
  
"Dining room? Isn't it in the kitchen?"  
  
"Oh no silly!" she exclaims incredulously.  
  
"Sorry," I say in a huff, shrugging my bag into place and slump over. A posture that is familiar to me. My hair hides my red face, and I trudge along the hall.  
  
"Now stop that!" Jean exasperates, "Don't slouch!"  
  
Smiling, I straighten my back and lift my head, tossing it back for my hair to jerk off my face. I stop suddenly, and my bag falls to the ground with a thud.  
  
"What now?" Jean starts to lose her patience.  
  
"I-I can't go in there." Panic rises in my throat and I try not to flee.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because, I-I'm a freak!" I turn away.  
  
With a frown Jean looks at my bag, concentrates on it, and it flies up into her outstretched hands, she tosses it to me, and when I catch it she says, "We're all freaks here, get used to it, Kittie." With a sad smile she adds, "You first." Indicating the massive door before us.  
  
Shouldering the back pack I stride towards the door. As I go to push it open with my palm, I have a better idea and pass right through it.  
  
Startled heads raise and stare at me. About to flee, a strong hand squeezes light pressure on my elbow and I look up to see Graham, "Graham?"  
  
He smiles down at me, "So you _did_ make it to breakfast. And you got my gift." At my questioning reaction he adds, "The backpack?"  
  
"Oh!" I understand, and hug him, then quickly back off, "Thank you."  
  
Jean reappears before he can reply and we head off to the buffet line. Filling our plates with breakfasts food, we laugh at the fellow students begging for ketchup and head to a table filled with students.  
  
Sliding into a spot, side by side, Jean introduces me, "Hey everyone, this is Kittie Black." Many voices shout hello, and I gulp.  
  
"I'm Spike," an African-American boy with bleached yellow hair stands up and offers his hand eagerly. I shake it and he sits back down.  
  
"And I'm Kurt." The smooth Russian accent rolls off the blue-black haired boy. Cat picks up a whiff of a weird scent, which sends her mixed feelings.  
  
"My name is Rogue." A gothic girl sits at the back of the group with her arms crossed. Her hair is a reddish brown with two white stripes. Her hands are gloved, which leaves me puzzled.  
  
"Hey Kittie, I'm Scott." A handsome senior with the hair of chestnuts approaches and caresses Jeans back with his hands, but he is smiling at me. His eyes are hidden behind maroon coloured sunglasses.  
  
I raise an eyebrow at the flustered Jean and she whispers into my mind, "_He's my boyfriend._"  
  
I nod, "Nice to meet you, everybody!" my smile is genuine and we all resume eating.  
  
"Hey hey! Don't forget me!" another boy, around18 protests, approaching the table. His hair was a mix of sandy brown and dark brown. Twinkling blue eyes glittered behind thick eyebrows. Pulling his lips back for a grin, he exposes white teeth. His clothes are rather grungy. Black pants, blue sweater, and a beige trench coat.  
  
"Uh, hi, I'm Kittie.  
  
"I just bet you are." His eyebrows dropped suggestively, and a knowing look glinted in his mischievous blue eyes, "I'm Gambit." And extends a gloved hand with the gloves cut off for bare fingertips.  
  
I place my hand in his. "Nice to meet you." I go to withdraw my hand, but he raises it to his lips and presses a light kiss on the back of it.  
  
Embarrassed, I blush and retrieve my hand. I feel a tingling sensation from where his lips pressed against my flesh, "Ah!" Spike groans, "Not again, Gambit!" throwing his hands up in exasperation, the soft spoken Russian boy looks at Scott, "Another one down for the count, eh?"  
  
"Excuse me?" I question, confused, "Another one down for the count?" My pupils dilate, then squash together, then spread a little to form smooth edged diamond shapes.  
  
"Woah!" Spike shouts, pointing, "Did you see that? Her eyes are so trippy!"  
  
I hold my stare, fixed on the stuttering Kurt, "What do you mean?"  
  
I have embarrassed Kurt, "Well, what I meant, was, was..." he looked around then in a flash he was gone.  
  
I blink, startled and raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Cat, why did you go and have to do that for?" Jean groans.  
  
"Do what?" I ask innocently.  
  
"Come down so harsh on Kurt? That was totally uncalled for!"  
  
What? I blink a few times. "Huh? Harsh? I just---"  
  
"No!" Jean smacks her hand on the table, "I don't want to hear it!" Jean stalks off and we all look at her strangely.  



	14. Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN  
  
  
"What was that?" I whisper, "Was I mean?" Nobody replies, and turns back to their breakfast.  
  
Gambit sits down in Jean's vacated spot, "What Kurt meant was, that is one of my abilities. Charming women." He grins wolfishly at me, playing with my hair.  
  
I push his hand away irritably, and Gambit blinks in surprise, "I was not taken in, Gambit. I don't like people messing with my mind, I have had it with people trying to control me!" I shout and stand rather abruptly, and everyone looks at me. "Just, leave me alone!" I stalk off and out the front doors. I sit on the cement steps.  
  
I am proud that tears do not fall from my eyes as I glare at the crack in front of me. Black combat boots scrape across the pavement into my line of vision, and I look up. It's Rogue.  
  
"What are you doing here?" my voice is nothing more than a whisper.  
  
She hunkers down and I stare into her place face, eyes lined heavily in black eye liner and shadow, "I followed you."  
  
"Uh, yeah. Why?"  
  
"Kurt, is my foster-brother."  
  
"Oh." I blink, "But what has that got to do with anything?"  
  
"If you'd let me continue..." she says patiently.  
  
I roll my eyes, "Okay, okay."  
  
"Kurt was abandoned as an infant and we do not know who his parents are. I, on the other hand, grew up in a dingy abandoned warehouse with my dad, sister and brother and several cousins." She takes a breath, "When my dad found out I was a mutant, he called the authorities to kill me."  
  
"What?" my mouth hangs agape.  
  
"You see," she grins, her non-caring grin, "I have one of those _bad_ mutant abilities. You see these gloves?" she holds her hands up and wiggles her fingers.  
  
"Yeah..." I reply.  
  
"If I took them off, I could kill you. One touch of my skin to another beings would steal their life force and energy. I am the only mutant in my family and an utter disgrace to them." She shoves her hair off her face. "Added to that, I'm a dangerous creature."  
  
"Why, why are you telling me this?"  
  
"Because I can see myself inside you. Please, don't tell anyone I'm talking to you like this," she grins ruefully, "It would destroy my reputation."  
  
"Okay." I simply agree, and give a little wink.  
  
"Anyway, I have the ability of acquiring. In non-mutants, I simply steal their life force. But, in mutants, I steal their ability for a limited period of time and drain their life force." She stares me deep in the eyes. "Do you know how it feels? To never being able to touch another being as long as I live? But, enough of me. I wanted to talk to you about Kurt."  
  
"What about him?" My eyebrows are raised in disbelief, why was she being so open. Well, I figure what she's said so far isn't a secret.  
  
"He has a ... an abnormal bone structure."  
  
"He does? I never noticed."  
  
"That is because he has a special device which enables him to look human. Not that he _isn't human_, mind you. Also put together with the fact English is not his first language, he is pretty shy. He's always been discriminated against because of what he looks like." She responds, and pauses for a breath of air.  
  
Not thinking, I storm out, "So what? He looks different! Why, my father looks different from anyone else I know, and I don't find him---" I break off, realizing what I have said.  
  
"I thought your father was Beau Black, the head of TSAM, The Society Against Mutants?" Rogue asks, confused.  
  
"Uh, no," I mumble, "Step-father." I don't elaborate further, and she lets the subject drop, "So, what's got to do with Jean? Why was she so angry about Kurt?"  
  
Rogue shakes her head, "It wasn't about Kurt."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No." She states firmly. "It was about Gambit. They used to... date. And even though they broke up, she still has those feelings she had. Not that she loves him anymore, but, she just can't stand to see him with other women. And he's a total flirt." We both laugh. "But, it's also the same the other way around, _he_ can't stand to see_ her_ with Scott."  
  
"Oh." Dawning comprehension. "Oh! But," my brow furrows, "They don't like each other anymore?"  
  
"No, it's more, possession. Once something's been yours, you hate to see it belonging to someone else. By the way," she starts, "how did you resist Gambit?"  
  
"I dunno," I shrug. "Same thing happened with the X-man."  
  
Rogue's eyes widen to full circles, "You blocked out Boss-man? Dude..." she swears to herself, "That's awesome."  
  
I smile wanly, "Sure..."  
  
Sighing, she withdraws back into her reserves shell, "What are your powers by the way?" she mumbles distractedly.  
  
"Oh, I can pass through solid objects, and have the abilities of a cat." I shrug, not making much of it."  
  
"That's cool... I can also fly and I have super strength."  
  
"Oh." I nod, and play the little game. "When does school start?" I pry open my bag and rummage through it. Extracting my schedule, I am deep in thought studying it, when a shadow blocks my light.  
  
"Hey man, get outta ma light." My Brooklyn accent drawls impatiently. And I glace up then suck in a breath of air.  
  
Tobias Clarke. Why is he always there? "So," he starts conversationally, "I haven't seen you around." Rogue rolls her eyes, and, reading her lips, I smile at her.  
  
"Gambit wannabe." Was what she mouthed. Rogue dashes off giving me the thumbs up sign.  
  
I raise a perfectly sculptured eyebrow, "Sure you have." Smiling devilishly, I add, "Remember this morning?" my deep accent rolls off my tongue like rich honey, and I wink at him.  
  
Disconcerted, Tobias steps back, "What?"  
  
Laughing throatily, I throw back my head, "I'm just kidding! Honest. You were outside my door this morning and I shut it in your face.  
  
"_You!_" he exclaims, horrified, he backs off.  



End file.
